


Desire

by gayeggyolk



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Also it's implied the historians changed George's gender cause they're home of phobic, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Angst, I'm a twisted fucking cycle path, I'm ace so I apologize in advance, If you know the myth you know, Implied Sexual Content, Karl is Helios, Little bit of slut shaming for good measure, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Momza is Hera, One-sided georgenap, Philza is Zeus, Quackity is Dionysos, Sapnap is Hephaestus, Technoblade is Athena, The lore is mostly accurate, Tommy is Hermes, Wilbur is Apollo, no beta we die like l'manburg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29407113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayeggyolk/pseuds/gayeggyolk
Summary: Two lonely gods, as star-crossed as lovers could be. One loved, one hated, both possessing a desire for each other so deep that no mortal could ever feel it. A desire that made history for generations.Not even they knew such desire would tear them apart.-Or, a retelling of a famous Greek myth where George is Aphrodite and Dream is Ares.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	Desire

**Author's Note:**

> -For context, I would look up the myth of Aphrodite and Ares as well as some Greek mythology so that you have a good idea of what happens in the story  
> -Please do not share my content with any cc's or repost it on other platforms. If Dream and George are no longer comfortable with shipping, I will take the fic down  
> -This is dedicated to @/anymofe on Instagram who suggested the idea! Sorry for the long wait lmao, enjoy!

They say he rose from the sea at birth, bathed in glittering foam. From the moment he reached the shore, he stole the hearts of mortals and immortals all across Greece. His skin looked pale like the moon, but felt warm like the sun. His lips tasted like golden honey concocted by the gods themselves. His eyes transported anyone who dared look at them to a world of desire and ecstasy. And yet, his beauty would be his demise.

The mortals named him Aphrodite, but the gods called him George. 

Mortals feared him, and the gods repudiated him. Many treated him as a beast rather than a deity. He would return to Olympus after every battle with blood-drenched skin and a cracked mask. But whether in the heavens or on Earth, he found himself alone. So, he embraced his cold, violent nature, embraced his destiny to play the lone wolf. However, there was one who saw something passionate hiding underneath his war-torn armor.

The mortals named him Ares, but he called himself Dream.

Two lonely gods, as star-crossed as lovers could be. One loved, one hated, both possessing a desire for each other so deep that no mortal could ever feel it. A desire that made history for generations.

Not even they knew such desire would tear them apart.

-

Being the father of all gods included many tasks that one would never expect. Officiating a wedding, for example.

Philza had seen the sheer want swimming in gods’ eyes as they watched George walk. He had also seen that want evolve into ugly greed. Lustful husbands fought each other like animals for a taste of George. Their jealous wives screamed obscene threats in their ears when they returned home. Philza knew he had to step in, Olympus forbid the chaos provoked bloodshed. Thus, when Sapnap asked for George’s hand in marriage (while keeping Philza’s wife hostage), he agreed. And though the decision broke many hearts, at least it would not break any bones.

Sapnap was nice enough, George thought. Solid build, if not a bit short. Certainly rich, if the piles of jewelry he had given him were any indication. He supposed he could settle for this. And besides, Philza would smite him if he refused. So, he accepted his nice little gifts and attended his nice little wedding and settled for his nice little cottage. Everything was nice nice nice. 

However, their honeymoon would reveal a secret that would break him.

It was dark, but warmth filled the air. The waves sang songs of love as they swept the shore. The moon shone bright enough to give George an ethereal glow. The whole world invited him to a night of passion. He stripped himself of his garments, leaving only a loose silk sheet and his husband’s sparkling gifts. Slowly, he strode into the bedroom of his vacation home, jewels jingling a sweet melody of promise. 

Sapnap lay with limbs strewn across the sheets, looking at nothing. However, upon hearing soft footsteps approaching, he perked up to see the sultry silhouette of his husband leaning against the doorway. George slowly emerged into the light, his skin gleaming. Sapnap’s stomach churned. His throat went dry.

George smirked. “Darling,” he purred. “We ought to celebrate our marriage. Such a glorious occasion should not leave our desires untouched.” 

Sapnap did not respond. How could he offer himself to such an ethereal being? 

George slowly walked closer to him. “I’m sure you feel hesitant. I know my beauty seems overwhelming.” He sat on the cushions and gingerly took Sapnap’s hand in his own. “But I assure you, I want to give myself to you.”

Sapnap’s breath hitched. Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks as he traced George’s fingers with his own. After a painful silence, he finally spoke.

“My dear,” he began. “I would love nothing more than to worship you. Your beauty is unmatched.” He swallowed, eyes closing. “But I cannot.”

George blinked. “Why ever not?”

Sapnap’s lips tightened as he attempted to gather himself. He tensed his shoulders to prepare for the hateful blow that would inevitably follow his confession.

“I am a cripple.”

He heard George softly gasp. “...What?”

“I’m a cripple,” he repeated. He finally met George’s eyes, which no longer sparkled, and sighed.

“When I was born, my mother found my appearance hideous. So hideous, she threw me down Olympus. The only reason I lived was because of Quackity. But when I returned, I found that my body could hardly function.” He paused, looking at their intertwined hands. “To the point where I cannot fulfill your desires as a husband.”

For a while, neither said a word. The waves no longer splashed against the shore. George’s expression was unreadable. Eventually, though, he broke the tension.

“This is...certainly unexpected.”

Sapnap lowered his head. “I understand if you hate me. I should have told you before we married.”

George sighed softly. “I don’t hate you.”

Sapnap looked at George like a lost dog. He gave a pitiful smile in return.

“Though I wish you had told me, it shall not ruin our marriage,” he said. “You are still my husband, and I shall treat you as such.”

Sapnap beamed. His hand flew up to caress George’s cheek like it was holding the rarest treasure in all of Greece. “My dearest George,” he said, looking deep into his eyes. “I will be the most dutiful husband you could ever ask for. I promise.”

George half-heartedly grinned, taking Sapnap’s hand away from his face. “Well, then, let us rest together,” he said. “Our embrace shall complete the marriage.”

With that, Sapnap gently brought George into his arms and laid them both on the bed. He pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead before drifting to sleep.

George’s eyes wandered to the sky. The moon’s color was fading. Sapnap’s body brought little warmth to his skin. His chest ached with unattended need.

But it would be fine, he thought, because Sapnap would still love him. Keep him safe. It had to be fine, or else he would answer to Philza.

George closed his eyes, succumbing to the dull darkness. 

This was fine.

-

This was not fine.

George glared at the life bustling around the Pantheon. Giddy husbands and wives practically frolicked across the marble floor, their voices ringing through the sickeningly cheery air. He watched desire dance in their eyes and longed to take it for himself. To feel alive again.

It had been relatively easy, at first. When he and Sapnap moved into their cottage, the aches were weak. He could distract himself with music and writing and weaving. But his parasite of lust soon evolved into a beast that gnawed at his insides. His daily routine turned into a recurring nightmare. He would wake up cold and tired after another dreary night. Sapnap would greet him and place a kiss on both his cheeks before leaving to busy himself in his workshop. All day, he would forge whatever the gods wanted, leaving George alone in their bleak cottage to wither away. Then, he would return at sunset and fall right to sleep after barely giving a kiss goodnight. Day after day. To the point where George thought the aches were going to kill him.

George turned to Wilbur, who was plucking a merry tune on his kithara. He stopped playing, however, when he noticed George frowning.

“Why so glum, George?”

“Oh, Wilbur,” George sighed. “It’s Sapnap.”

Wilbur smiled softly. “Ah, love troubles? I know the pain,” he said.

“It’s been a month since we wed,” George said. “A whole month without worship, and my body is already aching.” He threw his head back frustratingly. “How am I supposed to live like this forever?”

Wilbur raised his eyebrows. “Did he not tell you he was a cripple before you married him?”

“No,” George groaned. “...But it would hardly matter. I could not disobey Philza. I’m stuck with him.”

Wilbur pondered for a moment. “...You are. But you don’t have to make yourself miserable.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you confined to your cottage?”

George blinked. “No.”

“Then I would make the most of my situation,” Wilbur said. “You may be Sapnap’s husband, but you still have the world at your disposal.” He gestured at the bright sky and distant plains. “You’re free to see whatever and whoever you want.”

George looked out at the view from the Pantheon, absorbing the inviting sight. “I suppose so.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence, save for Wilbur’s humming, until they heard the golden gates open. A harsh murmur spread through the crowd.

“Huh,” Wilbur said. “And here I thought he was finally gone.”

George looked back at him. “What? Who?”

Wilbur scoffed. “Clay. You never met him. He was off at a war when you arrived. I guess it finally ended.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s a brute,” Wilbur muttered. “Always searching for blood and fury. Watching mortals fight for his amusement.” He shook his head. “He encourages all the horrors of war.”

George turned to see this brute for himself, watching his shadow walk through the clouds. He mentally prepared himself for the worst when he stepped into the light. However, instead of a hulking beast, he saw something extraordinary. 

The god was tall, impressively so. Large muscles that gleamed in the sunlight were intricately carved into his body. His long hair was as gold as the gates he passed. It flowed gracefully in the mountain wind. Blood and sweat dripped seductively down his skin. 

George’s chest burned.

“Hey, Clay!” George snapped out of his stupor to find the source of the shout. He saw Tommy push through the crowd and smirk obnoxiously wide. “Finally back after six months? How many mortals do you need to kill, you bastard?”

The gods laughed at that. Even Wilbur let out a chuckle. But George stayed silent. 

Clay did not respond, instead brushing past Tommy and walking out of the Pantheon. He disappeared behind its walls. George’s eyes followed him the entire time.

“Alright, enough,” Philza said over the crowd. “Start gathering yourselves.”

Wilbur rose up and followed everyone towards the cella. George did not accompany him, however. Instead, he snuck behind a shaft and looked out into the field that Clay entered.

He found the god sitting against a wall, completely silent. For a moment, time stood still. The whole world waited with George, holding its breath. Then, Clay reached for his mask and gently unclasped it from the back of his head. When George saw what was behind it, all the air left his body. 

Clay’s face was glowing, begging to be kissed. His lips were plush. His eyes were greener than the fauna that grew on Olympus. They looked warm, hypnotizing. 

But the longer George stared, the more he saw a hidden sorrow blooming in them. His heart panged. He knew that sorrow. Loneliness.

How long had Clay been alone? Had he ever been worshiped? How much did he ache? George shuddered at the thought. 

He had to know.

“George!” George jumped. Wilbur. “Where are you? The meeting is about to start!”

Clay turned his head like a deer confronting its hunter. George quickly slid out of sight behind the shaft. 

He ran back into the Pantheon and leaped up the steps. “Coming! Sorry,” he panted. “I was distracted.”

Wilbur gave him a funny look. “With what?” 

George waved a hand at him, glancing away. “Oh, nothing important.”

Wilbur said nothing for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright.”

As the two walked into the cella, George turned his head back to the pronaos. For a split second, he swore he saw Clay’s head peeking from behind the walls. His heart jumped. Perhaps that was a sign. An invitation.

His mind began plotting as he greeted the other gods. He knew, deep down, that this was dangerous. But then again, love was always dangerous when it came to George. His aches were deadly. And now, he could not bear them any longer.

One way or another, he was going to soothe them.

-

Dream watched the blood swirl in the glimmering bathwater as he scrubbed his breastplate. It poisoned the pure blue and colored it a dark red. He sighed.

He had forgotten how much he hated his name. When Tommy said it, he almost sliced off the scrawny finger pointing at him. But he did not care to be punished by Philza again. Not that it would matter. His father would always see him as what he named him: pitiful earth beneath his feet.

He always dreamed of a better life, one where he ruled Olympus and treated his brethren with respect. Hence why he started calling himself Dream. Nobody acknowledged the name, though. To everyone, he was still as meek as the mortals that fought his wars.

As he reached for his greaves, he jumped at the sound of soft humming. It sounded dangerously hypnotizing. His eyes darted across the fields in search of the culprit. Did the gods take a recess to come taunt him again?

Then, a figure appeared from the rose bushes. At first, it was blurry from the sunlight, but when it stepped closer, his jaw dropped.

The god was perfectly sculpted. Soft muscles painted his pale skin. His robes were wrapped enticingly around his body. His hair matched beautifully with his eyes. His eyes. They sparkled with something Dream had never seen before: interest. Genuine interest. Dream’s heart pounded loud in his ears.

“Pardon me,” he said, acting oblivious. “I thought I would be alone here.” He looked at Dream with half-lidded eyes and a gentle smile. “I hope my singing did not bother you.”

Dream swallowed. “Oh, no, not at all.”

The god smiled wider. “My name is George, the god of love.”

Dream hesitated before responding. Surely George had heard Tommy ridiculing him. “...I’m Dream. God of war.”

Sure enough, George tilted his head. “Dream? Forgive me, but I thought – “

“My name was Clay?” Dream looked back at the pond. The red was fading. “Well, that’s what Philza named me. But I did not like it, so now I call myself Dream.”

“I see.” Dream awaited the inevitable judgement. “Then I shall call you Dream.”

Dream’s eyes widened, and his head snapped back to George. There were no signs of mockery in his face.

“...Thank you.”

“Of course,” George replied. “It would be awful of me to do otherwise.”

Dream blinked. This had to be a trick. A plot conceived by Philza to take revenge on him for disappearing for six months. He turned away from George, clutching his greaves.

“Why are you here? Were you not invited to the meeting?”

“Oh, I was,” George said. Just as he suspected. “But I always find Philza’s meetings dreadfully boring. I saw you leave the Pantheon and figured you were doing something far more interesting. So, I snuck out to explore, and I found you.”

Dream raised his eyebrows at the sincerity in George’s voice. He looked at his greaves. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I am merely cleaning my armor.”

“It got bloody from a war, I presume?”

“Yes.”

George stepped closer. “Tell me about it.”

Dream whipped his head back to George. Never in the history of Greece did he expect such a response. His eyes looked curious, wanting. Dream’s heart clenched.

“...It was one of thekijpol most brutal wars I have ever witnessed. Swords with heads spewing blood were lodged in the ground. Screams echoed across the plains long after the battles ended.” He looked into the bloody water again. “No man experienced an easy death.”

He heard George gasp softly. “How awful...”

Dream sighed. “I know, but it was necessary.”

“No,” George said. “I mean how awful for you, that you had to witness such tragedies.”

Dream’s breath hitched. For him? Someone was concerned for him?

He slowly turned back to George. “Well...I try to see the positives of it. The cries of victory. The proud chanting of armies. The sobs of happiness when it finally ends.”

George smiled. “That sounds beautiful.”

Dream’s face flushed. “...It’s an honor to hear that from you.”

“Why so?”

“Well...you are clearly a beautiful god. For you to call me beautiful feels like a phoenix calling a cyclops beautiful.”  
George’s face glowed pink, and he laughed melodiously. Dream nearly dropped his greaves.

“Oh, don’t compare yourself to a beastly cyclops,” he said. “All the gods are beautiful.” He subtly eyed Dream up and down. “And you are certainly no exception.”

Dream’s face was burning now. He laughed awkwardly. “Then you are the only one who thinks so.”

“Oh?”

Dream let out a huff. “In case you haven’t realized yet, the other gods despise me,” he said. “They find my passion for war shameful.”

There was a pause. “...I don’t find it shameful.”

Dream’s eyebrows raised. His heart skipped a beat. 

“As the god of love, I find all passion beautiful,” George said. “It’s what makes mortals fascinating.”

Dream could not help but smile. “Then you and I are the only gods who feel that way. I will tell glorious war stories of triumph and heartbreak only for the gods to look at me in horror.”

George snickered. “Perhaps they just have no taste.”

Dream laughed at that, amazed that George recognized the ridiculousness of it all. “Well, they certainly listen to my brother Technoblade,” he rambled. “They enjoy analyzing all his strategies and preparations.” He shook his head. “They enjoy war when no passion is involved.”

George paused, then met his eyes. “Well...I cannot imagine war without it.”

Dream’s lips parted slightly. He stared into George’s eyes. It was like he read his mind. 

Was it truly possible, that he could be understood?

“I think passion is good,” George continued. He looked out at the horizon. “I think it can help us get what we want. I mean, if mortals had no passion, who would win wars? It would just be a dull game of throwing spears back and forth for eternity.”

Dream’s heart fluttered. “Exactly,” he half-whispered.

George smiled at him. “That’s why they need you, Dream. ...Or at least I think so.”

He shuddered. 

“Without you, there would be no reason to win wars, or protect cities, or defend loved ones. You know that protecting the things you care about is a natural instinct.” George glanced at Dream. “And those kinds of urges are just something we cannot control.” He stared at the earth below him. “If we could, humanity would be very lonely.”

For a moment, a warm but tense silence filled the air.

“I know how dreadful it is to be lonely.”

Dream’s heart stopped. “...You do?”

“Oh, yes,” George sighed. “I’m married to Sapnap, you see.”

Dream nearly gasped. “The cripple?”

“Yes. Ever since I married him, I’ve been living such a dull life. He doesn’t understand my passion. Every day, he goes to forge weapons in his workshop and leaves me home alone for hours. I have no one.” He turned to face Dream completely. “I’m sure you know how that feels.”

At that moment, Dream’s world caved in. “...I do.”

George stepped even closer to him. “I can see the passion in your heart, Dream. And I find it awful that you have no one to share it with.”

Dream, in turn, stepped closer as well. “And I find it blasphemous that you should feel the way I do.”

George smiled. “Thank you.”

For a while, Dream could not say anything. The breeze whispered encouragements into his ears. Eventually, his eyes fell upon a rose as pink as George’s lips. Without thinking, he carefully plucked it from the bush, turned back to George, and oh so gently tucked it behind his ear.

“Here,” he said softly. “I know this is not enough to change anything, but it’s the least I can do. You deserve a rose as beautiful as yourself.”

The world hushed. George’s eyes glittered with gratitude and something Dream feared to name. He caressed the rose and looked deep into his eyes.

“Perhaps there is more you can do.”

“What?”

“Perhaps...we could share our passion with each other.”

It took a moment for Dream to realize what he meant. When he did, blood rushed to his head, and his knees trembled. “But, George...you are married.” 

“And yet, my husband does not worship me,” George responded. “He cannot worship me.” He looked at the grass. “I have not been truly worshipped in ages.”

Dream gulped. Countless thoughts twisted and turned around in his brain. His heart jumped between falling into George and keeping itself locked away. For his and George’s sake.

“You are the god of war, Dream,” George said. “You ought to be worshipped as such.” He leaned in close enough to where Dream could feel his warm breath. “And I am in dire need of worship myself.” 

Dream’s body melted.

“Think of it as a favor,” George whispered. “For both of us. Nobody needs to know.”

Dream’s hands reached out to George. “Nobody will know?”

George took them in his own. “No one.”

For a moment, the two held each other on the edge between life and death. They would either fall into bliss or burn in a pit of shame. But then Dream saw the desire in George’s eyes, a desire that no other god had given him before, and he found it impossible to resist. He was bewitched. They both were.

And so, with no more words spoken, they fell.

Dream and George collided roughly at first. Furious lips nearly tore up soothing ones. But then George effortlessly calmed Dream’s body with his touch, and their passion merged into something fiery and ethereal.

Luckily, Sapnap had left to forge armor, so there would be no awkward encounters that evening. The cottage now burst with color, both gods seeing rosy pink. George guided Dream into a world of silk sheets and soft skin, and the two began their ritual that no god or mortal would ever understand. 

Dream’s touch was feather-light, afraid it would break George at any moment. He never expected that he, the god of war, could cower so low before such a being. Despite that, George found himself shaking, his chest aching worse than ever. He stroked the muscles on Dream’s back as though to beg for more. They both needed more more more.

It all happened too fast. A study of scars and marks. Lips claiming whatever they could reach. Passionate cries engraved into gods’ minds. An indescribable warmth as Dream entered George. Bodies and souls linking together in shared loneliness. All their hopes and fears and doubts ripped open for each other to see, to feel. And they understood it all.

The world sang as they loved one another. Hymns too powerful for the mortal ear. The earth trembled. The clouds danced. The stars aligned.

Dream whispered devotions of love into George’s ear as they finished. It was enough to make him cry. Passion so beautiful it bled shimmery ocean tears. Dream gently wiped them away when he let go. 

That night, the moon shone brighter than it ever had after George was born. After finishing, the gods embraced as close as space would allow. They shared their hearts with each other. 

George’s eyes memorized every inch of Dream’s face, for he knew that this love would leave as quickly as it arose. After all, he had a husband, and he ought to treat him as such. This was just a favor.

Soon, the waves drifted George to sleep.

Just this once.

-

“Just this once” quickly became a daily necessity. George would be wandering around Olympus, would see Dream bloodied and bruised after another battle, and would promptly take care of him. They would love each other all through the night, and Dream would leave before sunrise. 

Sapnap was none the wiser, still as dutiful as ever. Giving George more gifts and returning to greet him in the morning (his shifts were growing longer). George would now happily play the part of the obedient little husband. “Oh, do not worry about your shifts,” he would say. “I’ll be perfectly fine here at home.”

Wilbur would see his face flushed pink, his eyes alive, and say how glad he is that George found a way to help himself. George would thank him. 

But history knows these affairs never last.

It was early morning. Karl was burning with eagerness to start the day. When the last star faded, he jumped in his blazing chariot and flew across the sky. While spreading his light, he glanced at Sapnap and George’s cottage. Inside, he saw two figures embracing in their bed. But as he watched, he noticed that one of the gods did not look like Sapnap. He quietly steered his chariot closer to the cottage and squinted his eyes. To his horror, George was staring lovingly at not Sapnap, but Clay. 

“Now go, before Karl arrives!”

“Do not worry, my love. If he has not seen us before, he will not see us now.”

Karl’s stomach dropped. Before Dream could notice the sunlight seeping in through the roof, he flew away.

He wondered how anyone could bear to speak of such blasphemy.

The workshop was ominously quiet, as if the rocky walls already knew what happened. Karl found Sapnap polishing a sword for Philza.

“...Sapnap.”

Sapnap looked up and grinned, immediately recognizing the voice. “Hello, Karl! What brings you to my workshop?”

Karl narrowly avoided a sword to the neck after confessing what he saw.

Sapnap’s eyes were flaming as he panted. He snarled, looking around like a hungry animal. When his eyes found his chest of smithing materials, he rummaged through it for a split second before taking out a golden thread. 

Karl froze. “Sapnap? What are you going to do?”

Sapnap stretched the thread until it was barely visible. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” He brought the thread to his table and began knotting it together. “This thread is unbreakable. I’ve been saving it for only the finest of weapons.”

Karl gasped quietly. “Do you plan to...?”

“No,” Sapnap muttered. “I could never kill my husband. But I do plan to catch them.”

“What do you mean?”

Sapnap glanced up at Karl. “I’m going to make a net so fine that they cannot see it. Then, when they fall onto the bed, it will trap them, and they will be stuck for as long as I wish.”

Karl’s eyes widened. “I see.” He paused. “What do you want me to do?”

“Go tell everyone about this,” Sapnap barked. “And have them gather to my cottage to catch them in the act!”

Karl nodded vigorously and left with haste.

As the sun set, Sapnap finished tying the last knot. He sighed as he studied his handiwork. Every knot was handled with the utmost care, as to prevent suspicion. The perfect net to ruin his marriage. 

He prayed deep down that, somehow, Karl was mistaken. That his husband could still love him.

When he returned home, George acted especially cheery. He had to physically hold himself back from strangling him.

“I will be away for a while,” he said. “If you need anything, come find me in Sparta.”

George nodded. “Of course.”

Sapnap did not kiss him goodbye.

When he left the cottage, he ran to the Pantheon, feet and heart aching. There, the gods waited with apprehension. Upon seeing him, they gathered around him hurriedly.

“Come,” he yelled, startling them. “We shall see if the beauty truly has fallen for the beast!”

The walk back was dreadfully silent. No god dared question Sapnap any further. Philza hung his head low. The clouds hovered ominously near the earth, as though to keep the gods from seeing the sight that awaited them.

As they approached the cottage, they heard sweet sighs escape from the windows. All the gods looked at each other. Sapnap’s lips trembled as tears threatened to spill. So Karl was right. He ran inside, fuming.

Dream carried George into the bedroom, nuzzling his face into his neck all the way there. They fell into the sheets together, never losing their grip on one another. But when Dream tried to reach for George’s face, his arms would not budge.

“What?! I’m stuck!”

George’s eyes widened. He tried to grab Dream’s shoulders, but his hands refused to move.

“It's like an invisible rope has tied me up!”

“What in the name of Olympus is going on?!”

With that, Sapnap and his entourage of gods burst through the door. Dream and George gasped.

Sapnap pointed at the lovers aggressively. “I’ve caught you!”

George’s eyebrows furrowed. “My dear! What are you doing here?”

“Karl saw everything,” Sapnap bellowed. “You cannot lie anymore, George. You’ve been having an affair! With this monster, no less!”

Dream glared at Sapnap, eyes cold. “Release us!”

Sapnap began howling with laughter. “Oh, this is rich! The god of war trapped within my little net! Bare-backed for all of Olympus to see!”

The other gods joined in, throwing out cruel remarks as they shook with laughter. Remarks of how pathetic Dream looked. How they wished they were the ones holding George in bed. Eventually, Philza raised his hand and calmed the crowd.

“Enough,” he said, voice booming. “This is a disgrace to Olympus! You shall both be punished.”

Wilbur stood behind him, looking pitifully at George. But he said nothing.

“George,” he continued. “You will purify yourself in the ocean from where you were born.”

George’s chest ached. “No...”

“Clay,” he said. “You will be exiled to Thrace until further notice.”

Dream grit his teeth.

“And you two shall never see each other again!”

George felt tears quickly well in his eyes. All warmth left his body. For once, Dream could not comfort him. He wanted to scream. Dream stayed eerily silent.

“Now,” Philza said, facing Sapnap. “Release them.”

Sapnap pouted. “Must I, Philza? Can I not indulge in this victory for as long as my heart desires?”

“No,” he replied. “George must be purified immediately. Release them.”

With a scowl, Sapnap snapped the net away. George curled in on himself, trembling. Dream jumped up and puffed out his chest if to challenge Philza. 

Philza drew his sword. “Do not test me, Clay!” His eyes narrowed. “Unless you wish to lose another battle.”

Clay growled under his breath. Eventually, he relaxed his muscles, while still staring bitterly at his father.

“Now, leave.”

Dream looked back at George, who peeked his head at him through folded arms. His eyes looked lost, broken. He wished he could worship him one last time right then and there. But he knew better than to risk Philza killing his only beloved. So, he whispered goodbye will all the love he could muster, and left without another word.

Philza turned to George. “Come. Enough of this foolishness.”

George swallowed the lump in his throat and slowly arose from the bed. The bed of tainted sheets and tainted marriages and tainted affairs. Tears burned his skin as he covered his body in shame. Judgmental, hungry eyes followed his every move.

Wilbur shook his head at him as he walked out.

-

George’s eyes saw gray. The whole world was a dull gray. His body grew numb as he stared into the ocean. The waves hissed at him in disgust. As he stepped in, they firmly grasped him in a cold embrace. He felt every kiss, every touch, every memory, dissolve into the salty water. His tears glowed helplessly in the depths. 

When he reemerged, no creatures flocked to him in awe. No music played. It felt like death rather than rebirth. The aching faded into a faint throbbing. A heartbeat. George traced his chest, imagining the heartbeat to be Dream’s. He prayed that, somewhere, Dream could feel his own. And that, someday, they would reunite, and be reborn together.

-

There would be more affairs, they say. George would remain with Sapnap, for not even a heartbroken god could let such beauty go, but he would see Dream again. And again. And again. For their desire was, and still is, unmatched.

Two lonely gods, as star-crossed as lovers could be. Both hated, both in an affair so beautiful that no mortal will ever experience it. An affair that made history for generations.

But history knows these affairs never last.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! If you want to request and/or see more mcyt content, follow me @/gayeggyolk on tumblr! You can also interact with me if you just wanna talk :) My inbox is always open!


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